


To a Moment within Time

by HQ_Wingster



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Affection, Catharsis, Character Study, Comfort, Comfort Reading, Developing Relationship, For Me Specifically, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle Attend Hogwarts Together, Hogwarts Library, Inspired by Poetry, M/M, Prose Poem, Relationship Study, Short & Sweet, Stress Relief, Studying, Tenderness, Tired Harry Potter, Tom Riddle is a Sweetheart, Touching, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:09:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28878501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HQ_Wingster/pseuds/HQ_Wingster
Summary: Perhaps comfort is not an emotion; but rather, the hands of someone you trust — lightly digging into your head so you can forget what you’re worried about.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's it the second day of uni and I'm already losing my goddamn mind? So that's why I'm stress-writing because I don't want to infuse this energy onto a serious fic, but I really want to write something. And thus, this was born!

Beneath the chatterings of the library, here — we found our scene: where sequestered near a window or rather, tucked there by his boyfriend; where surrounded by what he hated or rather, the books he’d have to read later; and where he was nuzzled by the morning or rather, buried beneath its fingers, Harry Potter resigned his fate because he knew he wanted to die here. And if anyone were to cut him a headstone for his troubles, he had only one request and truly, it was simple. That in the space below his name, where one could read his cause of death, he wanted this etched with the scribble he had been using for all his essays. For it was a fitting way to remember what his thoughts were when assigned them and partly, out of amusement so he could laugh beyond the grave:  _ ‘Unto the papers, unto the deadlines, may you burn in inner Hell.’ _

Just the thought of it made him chuckle and for a moment, you could see him well. There were crinkles near his eyes and those were all the lines he had written. While collapsed here and with nothing, other than the prompt for a due paper. Which had to be turned in the following week and Merlin, the requirements…

It was enough to make him sigh in that heavy way when he thumped, smacking his forehead into the table and shaking the books all around him, earning a brow from the Slytherin seated directly across from him. Already researching for said paper and making notes for assistance; but now, reconsidering when Harry smacked his head again. And before the redness could turn purple or into a dull, aching bruise, Tom murmured a wandless spell to cushion his every impact. And while it didn’t stop the smacking, it got the table to stop shaking. Because now, instead of it, Harry met a wall of air. That was there and just for him, a bit of nothingness for him to hurt, while Tom continued what he was doing and wrote a few lines into his notes.

Occasionally glancing when Harry stilled and when he slumped into his forearms, about done with all the wrestling and all the tension he had to let out. Where in a few days — but not now, he would nod towards his fate and would begin working on the paper, begin scrawling out his essay. And by then, you wouldn’t hear him bitch, moan or complain because there was something about a deadline that appealed to his tendencies.

It was like a challenge for him to slay and as a Gryffindor; or rather, nay — this was an obstacle for him to climb and he wanted to reach the summit. So he felt it better to complain now so he wouldn’t have to while climbing, so that the only thoughts within his mind were just  _ ‘finish’  _ and  _ ‘I can do this.’  _ And that momentum was all he needed to find his place beneath the sun, to feel it heavy upon his shoulders after the assignment had rolled off.

_ ‘And it’ll be breathtaking’ _ — came the muse, came the thought within his mind, as Tom circled around the table and leaned quietly beside his boyfriend.

Fingers settling into the bird’s nest that was about as synonymous with his hair: like a gentle weight for Harry’s thoughts, occupying where his worries were. So that they couldn’t touch him or eat at him or wander through his head because those rights were reserved for every finger and his two thumbs. When Tom threaded through his locks, when he scratched near his nape, and when he rubbed little circles that melted Harry to his hands. Nothing but  _ ‘hmmm’ _ s and soft breathing as the latter slumped here with his boyfriend, finding solace as Tom read him a few of the things he found interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr](https://joeys-piano.tumblr.com/) |[ Twitter](https://twitter.com/joey_wingster)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps amusement isn't the laughter or the side-glances you find from him; but rather, the tremors from his fingers when he reaches over to ruffle your hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …welcome to the thrilling sequel I didn't know I'd be writing. So as a recap: four days have passed since uni and my mind is still lost, but there is hope to be found for both me and Harry because the essay we have to do is due two weeks from now -- and not next Friday. That's heaven in a bottle right there! 
> 
> So to celebrate, I wanted to write something. Enjoy~
> 
>   
>  **Disclaimer:** the following chapter is written densely (which is my preferred style) and is very rich in descriptions because I want to capture everything that was contained in this moment and how it swirls and ebbs and whatnot. So the general idea is that Tom is overflowing in joy right now because he’s catching all the feelings radiating from a happy Harry, he’s like a mirror reflecting back all those waves of emotions and he’s like a soaked sponge who wants to hold in that happiness but everyone else is noticing it too.

Above the clatterings of a fork, once another finished their meal; beneath the glow from the candlelights, once another had their fill; above the pastries and the puddings and the juices, scattered about; beneath the babble of the Great Hall and of the laughter ringing out — you’d have to know him like your wand to know he was elsewhere at the moment. Or perhaps, not at all — for if you looked at him, it was obvious.

That he was anywhere but here, as he finished his pudding: as he was savoring every bite and chasing his spoon with delight, flicking how he pleased before he helped to another serving; as he was listening to the Lestranges after tilting his head left, seemingly rapted with whatever had them excited upon that hour; as he was quirking towards the Malfoys and had done so with a brow, a glint of something within his smile before it swallowed him inside-out; and as he was laughing while crinkles bordered the edges of his gaze, not bothering to duck down or attempting to even hide them. Not caring when other students were turning back to glance at him because the Head Boy of Slytherin was for once, unabashed: not in that proud or haughty way that was trademarked to only him, but with a freedom and an innocence — shading him cuter than handsome.

Because every curl, every strand, every lock of Tom’s hair had unraveled from their style and were loosely following him; wavering slightly over his eyes and drawing back when he tilted, animated with a boyish-ness that brought out a different side to him. Because there were cracks in his voice and fissures along his mouth, complementing dimpled smiles and the rising pink within his skin; but never detracting from how velvety he still sounded to those around him and neither discounting the charm and  _ the lure  _ you could feel from him — as if amplifying those features and making him more approachable, as if unveiling a piece of him that until now, had been for private. And because he seemed happy and moreso than he had ever been, shining as brightly as an emerald and rivaling that of a ruby; never once, looking away from what had brought this right out of him, as he finished a bit of pudding and nibbled the chocolate from his spoon.

And say, if you were Draco — sitting leftly at the table, at about an angle from where Tom was, having pinched yourself into reality — you could fake a sneeze into your elbow to steal a glimpse at what he was looking at. Or more accurately, at  _ whom  _ for there was  _ ‘smitten’  _ written on his face. But as soon as you heard a burst of laughter, followed by the  _ hics  _ and the catches of a chuckle rolling over, rippling from behind you and echoing the Great Hall, you didn’t need to be a genius to know exactly who that was. Because there was only one person who could laugh like that and that one person was Harry Potter: whose reflection, you could see him if you squinted into Tom’s eyes and there he was, slapping a knee and with his friends, filled with glee. And if you were close enough to even trace it, you could find his signature between the laughter lines: folded gently within the creases that etched Tom like a work of art.

Because there was no one else he’d rather sigh for or even look at during this moment, as he dug lightly at his bottom lip with the same spoon he had with pudding. And there was a fondness to how he did it when he gazed softly at his boyfriend; more than aware, but didn’t care that his heart was out in the open.

As Harry shared a wonderful time with his fellow House and with the treacle tarts: helping to another serving after clapping the wind out of Weasley, when he slapped squarely at his mate’s back and clutched tightly at his shoulder, fingers melting into something gentle and there was camaraderie when he earned it back. And from where he was, Tom could catch snippets of quidditch and  _ ‘Merlin’  _ and  _ ‘thank fuck for extensions’  _ as seeker and keeper, as best and best friend, circled their desserts and toasted with their forks. While all the while, there was Granger and she was urging them with a smile — more light-hearted than anything, simply a reminder to them both. That although the due date on their essay had been pushed back to another week, it didn’t change that there was a lot they had to do for this paper. Much of which she alluded to as her own way of celebration, even chiming in with her goblet as her fellow years had their moment. Knowing fine and well that  _ this  _ — this extension was worth it, that almost nothing could dare to damper the relief washing over them.

And it was like heaven in a bottle, if there was a phrase to describe this: this  _ fire  _ within his chest, rivaling that of firewhisky, when Harry tore into another tart and felt abuzzed with his company; these  _ tremors  _ at his hands, brought on from excitement, as he stole glances to those around him and clapped heartily until he was numb; and those  _ breaks  _ that came over when his voice shot towards the ceiling — whether he did so out of laughter or while hollering with his friends, shattering into pitches and interruptions without end, it didn’t matter to Harry and he didn’t care as it happened. Not bothering to lower or to even hide his own happiness because for the first time in a while, it was like a weight was off his shoulders. That the space it occupied and that the space it left behind was just for him and only him — he wanted to fill it until he was high. High from these feelings sprouting about him, knowing that the one thing that bothered him wouldn’t be rooting for some time. So until then, there were just flowers and little saplings of joy finding their way into his soil and expressing from his heart.

Even germinating through his hair and easing the tension there, massaging at his headaches until he realized these were fingers. That upon tipping his head back and instead of finding the enchanted ceiling, he found the stars and the galaxies swirling about from his boyfriend. From when Tom was looking at him, as if gravity had pulled him here. Hands twisted with a fondness as he reeled Harry back. Legs braced beneath the table, he didn’t budge for one bit. Merely a challenge on his smile when Tom feigned lack of interest, pretending to be serious when there was playfulness in-between them.

“Do behave yourself,  _ Harrison.” _ He curled loosely through the strands, tilting Harry down until he exposed his own neck. And there was a quirk to how he did it, a simple flex with his wrist — nothing strenuous on his part when Tom marveled at his boyfriend. “It’s never far when you’re happy. Trouble, that is,” he added

“I’ll be sure to call you,  _ Timothy.”  _ His voice had lowered for only him. “So you wouldn’t have to wait for me.” Harry winked at his boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr](https://joeys-piano.tumblr.com/) |[ Twitter](https://twitter.com/joey_wingster)


End file.
